


(to be made) Eternal

by Itylien



Category: Path of Exile (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Spelling & Grammar, Because canon compliant, Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent, Even I was not optimistic enough to demand it for yuletide, M/M, Purple Prose, Self-Indulgent, To be frank I wrote this for myself, Weirdly Written, downer ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21607231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itylien/pseuds/Itylien
Summary: The labyrinth was treacherous and Weylin’s luck could not have held forever.
Relationships: Chitus Perandus/Weylin
Kudos: 8





	(to be made) Eternal

**Author's Note:**

> Does it make any sense? Not particularly. Do I like it anyway? Yes I do.
> 
> For context consult: https://pathofexile.gamepedia.com/Poem

Izaro’s maze stretched far into Sarn plains but, with all the Perandus fortune behind him, Chitus was unable to find any entry other than the stone altar to the Phrecious goddess.

He hasn’t found an exit at all.

It had to be assumed the _Trials of Ascendancy_ \- as Izaro named his insane labyrinth - were, indeed, inescapable once entered.

*

Only allowance Chitus name and his parent’s wealth was able to afford him was Izaro’s special dispensation to enter the maze alone, as opposed to being another face in a weekly storm of _aspirants_.

It was Chitus mother who had to beg the emperor this favor.

Here she is now. In tears.

She advised Chitus many times to reconsider, to wait patiently for Izaro’s supporters to fall away, for time to prove the emperor a fool in his chase of immortality.

She didn’t understand the power of thaumaturgy, couldn’t smell its distinctive stench on the breeze of Imperial Gardens. With magic at his side, it was only a matter of time before Izaro - one way or another - makes himself eternal.

Chitus will take the throne from him before that happens.

He has the brightest mind in his generation, skills sharpened to perfection by the finest tutors money can buy, and a fortune in most versatile thaumaturgical ingredients packed away on his person.

He is a Perandus. He will get what he set out to acquire.

***

Slaves were rounded-up up like cattle. Corralled into the mazes with no reason given, nothing to go on but a whisper that if one of them comes out alive he will get his freedom and the Eternal Empire itself to rule with it.

To Weylin, it sounded much like another sort of slavery.

*

Most men from the arenas died during first few hours.

To traps.

To poison that kept spewing from all sides.

It took time to realize the traps were mechanical. That they could be triggered from afar by crushed stone or loose bits of labyrinth walls.

Too much time.

Still, the last member of his cohort did not fall to poison. He joined the first ones very literally - walking right into devourer’s maw.

Since then Weylin was alone, barely inching forward with no goal in mind but keeping his life and all his limbs as long as possible.

*

Screech of a roa caught his attention just as pangs of hunger twisting his guts begun to turn from irritating to overwhelming.

The slaves received no supplies. No one expected them to live long enough to need sustenance.

Not that roas were generally sustenance.

Tough and tasteless. Their voles filled with the kind of bile that turned their already unappetizing meat practically unedible if spilled by an unpracticed hunter. And they traveled in flocks many strong, only separating to attack.

Still, he moved towards the sound and in a few moments of careful navigation, a scene unfolded before him.

A roa cornered a boy - a man maybe, it was very hard to tell with Imperials - who was waving a fencing spike at it like he expected the beast to parry.

The bird was clearly playing with him, biting at the spike from time to time, giving its prey ample opportunity to exhaust itself before it could get to its tasty bones.

Roa didn’t need meat but the birds would never pass an opportunity to get at flesh-covered treats.

It was quite entertaining to watch, and while Weylin knew he should walk away, leave the boy to his fate, he was also hungry.

Lone roa made much easier a meal than entire flock of them.

He sneaked up to the bird, distracted as it was, and used a trick his father taught him for exactly this occasion - rammed his sword up the beast rear, angling it slightly down to crush its heart but leave the bitter, bitter bile glands untouched.

The bird died startled, not even convulsing - it’s legs falling still mid surprised jump. Weylin smiled to himself, kneeling to dress the animal, hoping the Imperial would run along.

He saw his kind before - always in a hurry to move forth.

He saw all of them later, dead few hundred paces up trail.

***

Humiliation burned his veins as little else could.

All his studies - the fencing, the magic - and the labyrinth will best him, inside his first hour, by means of overlarge chicken.

It didn’t fear fire, barely chirped when he managed to stab it, and even that might have been merely a fowl version of delight.

It should be satisfying to see its carcass at his feet but he was not the one who fell it.

Ezomyte - Imperial brand on display, arena dust probably still clinging to his skin - strolled from out of nowhere, killed the beast in one blow and was now taking it apart using nothing but his fingers.

Starting with its ass.

He barely spared Chitus a glance and why would he? The bird clearly made for a far more formidable opponent.

Chitus mind worked overtime, quick enough to stay his hand that has never strayed from his sword.

Killing the slave would not help him in any way. But if he can reason with him, if he can use him…

***

The boy did not run along.

_You will find me useful_ , he said, finally, desperately, as Weylin was walking away from the senseless deluge of his words.

Despite khol lining his eyes, he spoke with the voice of a man but it wasn’t his battle prowess he was offering, not after Weylin had to stop a single bird from killing him.

Were he still in the arena, he would reject such an offer. Angrily and without thinking. Out there Weylin might have been a slave but he was also convinced he could regain his honor, escape Imperial bondage and return to Ezomyr. Make himself worthy of a woman's touch.

But in here, in this insane maze, he saw thirty men - none of them better but none of them any less than himself - lost in few hours.

Not in battle.

They died to inattention.

To bad luck.

How long will his attention hold? How long his luck?

So he considered the Imperial - soft, his skin the color of evening light when it broke on stormy clouds over Ezomyr hills, the sheen of his eyes like starless skies.

Life will be short.

If this golden Imperial thinks offering his flesh for protection will get him through this maze - let him try it.

***

The slave hadn’t listened to a single word out of Chitus mouth.

For a time Chitus thought the savage doesn’t know the language - conquest in the west proceeded much slower than even the most cautious of Phrecious proponents advertised - it was possible this slave came straight from the coastal mountains where the barbarians barely acknowledged other tongues existed.

Truly, there seemed to be no end to Izaro’s recklessness.

Unless, of course, he was just that certain his trials were unbeatable. Which did not bode well.

But no. The Ezomyte spoke just fine. It was that, evidently, Chitus had said nothing worth replying to.

The slave didn’t know - and from his lack of reaction didn’t care - there was a method to the labyrinth madness. Didn’t seem to have any interest in the implicit goal of this place, and especially no interest in Chitus offering to lead him to it

Nevertheless, he let Chitus lead him to the relative safety of nearest alcove and shared the dead bird’s disgusting flesh with him in what Chitus chose to take for the acknowledgment of their accord.

He shouldn’t have.

*

The Ezomyte was built like an ox and just as strong. His hands, holding Chitus down to better rut into him, were huge and hard. Calloused in a way that even Imperial soldiers weren't.

The harshest touch Chitus knew came from his family guard - her hard skin pleasantly exotic at the time, callouses from her blades exciting.

He was not excited now.

The slave just rolled onto him, not so much as by your leave. Chitus was not able to free himself nor stop angry, humiliated tears from running down his face as unwelcome pleasure kept building with the Ezomyte every touch. Every move.

He did not smell of sweet cinnamon, like Chitus father’s courtesans always have. His savage mouth tasted of greasy meat they both had for dinner and shamefully that taste - salt of his own tears and sharp spice the slave somehow had on his person to add flavor to bland roa meat - was what made his pleasure break, uninvited bliss shivering through him slowly, deliciously like it rarely did.

The Ezomyte watched him go through the motions of it - impassive and seemingly uninterested but for hard organ pressed into Chitus hip. He gave Chitus few moments to collect himself, then made as if to turn him around.

***

Weylin was only going to fit himself between the boy's thighs but the Imperial turned to quicksilver in his hands. Frantic, squirming, pleading to use his hands, dark eyes shining and face flushed with the recent climax.

No point forcing open doors.

The Imperial got to it quick, probably terrified of Weylin patience running thin. His golden fingers cold and his gaze turned away.

It soon became obvious the boy’s offer did not come from experience. Clumsy. Awkward. Not for long. First his gaze turned down, to see what he was doing, then his touch grew hot, dextrous hands cautiously trying out ways to touch, and finally, black eyes focused on Weylin's face. Helpless. Confused.

_Touch them together_ whisper of Weylin’s breath brushed Imperial’s temple a moment before his lips did. The boy took a sharp breath - maybe in excitement, maybe to protest - but it poured out of his lungs on a moan.

He did as he was told.

*

Days went by. One by one. Like they did in the arena. Labyrinth changing around them - in its appearance but not its nature.

From that first evening, the circumstances remained clear for both of them. The Imperial, if not willing, at least not openly resentful of his role in their struggle to survive the maze.

He insisted to guide them both through the stone and dirt as if he knew the way, and maybe he did, but Weylin was really only interested in his compliance.

Leading through the days made the boy much more agreeable when nights came.

*

The labyrinth was treacherous and Weylin’s luck could not have held forever.

It was more than easy to happen upon a pressure trap and trigger it with a careless step. Son of Sarn frantic warning reaching him half a moment too late.

Too late to stay himself on the plate, too late to step aside - Weylin resigned himself to his faith. Poison then. Same way as most of those who died here before him.

A dart, biting sharply into his arm, was almost an afterthought.

The Imperial will have to look for another warrior to protect him from hungry birds. The boy better prays, to whatever gods favored the Empire, the next one will be as reasonable in his demands as Weylin was.

He was about to commit his soul to the First Ones, not even considering there could be any other option, quietly glad for it, when he felt the Imperial rip the dart out of him and saw him sniff at it as a cat would. Not a second later the boy was rummaging through his waist pouch to emerge with a small golden bottle in his grasp.

_Golden imperials did love to gild things_ thought Weylin, haze settling upon his mind. There was no pain - not really. Instead, he could feel his chest become leaden. Lifting it to take a breath quickly becoming a chore.

The Son of Sarn slapped him. All his might was not really impressive but Weylin still startled at his daring.

Then again if he ever wanted to stand a chance of living through laying hands on any Son of Ezomyr, a dying one was a good choice.

Then another slap came, and another and finally Weylin grabbed the Imperial’s hand out of irritation alone. He couldn’t see very well, but he could hear the Son of Sarn cursing up a storm, agitated, begging him to... something.

The pain, when it came, was unexpectedly sharp. The Imperial… poured something into his mouth?

_Don’t swallow. It’s supposed to burn. Don’t… don’t swallow._

The boy held Weylin’s throat in a manner that would be too tight were he still able to draw a breath. Weylin’s mouth burned with living fire, worse than any spice ever did, worse than fire itself could. Something was spreading, something was...

*

He woke, to his great surprise, bundled into red imperial cloak the Son of Sarn worn into the labyrinth, like the fool he was.

It was soft, felt like freshly minced meat when Weylin clenched it in his fist.

Looking round he saw a little camp set up - the Imperial must have literally dragged him through the maze into this little alcove of stone and shrubbery.

The boy himself was nowhere to be seen.

Remembering the pain Weylin touched his mouth, moved his tongue about, feeling the inside as slick and whole as it always was.

Magic.

Son of Sarn had used Imperial magic to purge the poison from him.

***

Chitus waited for the Ezomyte to wake all through the evening and well into the night. The antidote worked, he knew. The slave was going to wake as good as new.

The blisters, caused by rancid thaumaturgical oil used as a solvent for the antidote, were supposed to disappear if treatment was successful. As indeed they have, barely a minute after he poured it down the Ezomyte throat.

What left was for the body to recover from the shock of poisoning. If his teachers are to be believed it took different time for different men.

In the meantime, Chitus went hunting. Managed to snare two rabbits - in this part of the labyrinth rodents basically darted underfoot, often chased by scorpions the size of dogs.

They might, just might, be getting closer to the Imperial Palace.

From what he knew there supposed to be a grand, central arena. A test of personal battle prowess, strategy and quick thinking for the future Emperor.

This labyrinth was merely an endurance test.

Test of conviction.

Chitus tried not to give Izaro madness undue credit, but he couldn’t deny the poetry of its design.

One entrance and one exit made everyone equal, gave every aspirant the same start and the same goal. Only once inside a myriad of branching paths lead some astray, some to their death and some…

The slave was stirring.

Finally.

Chitus didn’t turn to look at him, waiting to see what the Ezomyte will do.

There were so many possibilities.

A thanks Chitus rather thought he richly deserved but also violence because he has just proven to the Ezomyte - who took one look at his ineffectual jostling with a roa and took him for a fool - he is a threat in his own right.

He felt the smallest of touches through his cape.

It could be a hand, it has always been before, or it could be a blade - he couldn’t risk it.

***

Weylin reached for the boy without thinking, as he did the previous night.

His hands stopped at the lush, red fabric he still remembered the feel of from when it was wrapped about him, giving warmth to what should rightfully be claimed by the First Ones. Seeping heat into his body the same way the Imperial persuaded the poison to seep out of it.

Son of Sarn was not useless.

Son of Sarn held his life - his gratitude - in his hands and was therefore not to be an object for his use.

Anymore.

Weylin clenched his teeth on the demand he was about to word, made to turn away, leaving the Imperial to his watch. He needed rest. He will take the opportunity to rest afforded by the presence of his equal and be grateful for it.

The Imperial grabbed his wrist, quick like a viper, dark eyes narrowing in suspicion, but the only weapon Weylin brandished was made of his own hardened flesh. A thing the boy already knew how to handle.

“No,” Weylin said, sitting up in attempt to make his protruding shame less obviously apparent. “No need to lower yourself,” he muttered, trying to turn his back, hide. He was not embarrassed when he had to hold the Imperial down with might, force the pleasure from him. It was his right then. To do so now would be…

“To _lower myself_?” whisper of the boy’s voice sharpened into a hiss, he jerked Weylin’s captive wrist towards himself, trying to force him to look into the Imperial’s face but Weylin couldn’t. His eyes flickered aside, stalling as best he could.

The boy didn’t like that at all.

“It was _proper_ for you to _lower me_ yesterday but _now_ I don’t _have to_?”

Hot shame flooded Weylin's face at being so openly reminded of his abuse.

“You had no purpose…” a hard slap jerked Weylin’s head to the side.

Son of Sarn was still holding fast onto him, there was heat shining in the boy’s dark gaze. He still had to look up to Weylin's face, had to look at him through thick lashes and windswept hair but there was no rage there, no distrust that Weylin expected to see.

“I had no _purpose_ so it was proper for you to _invent_ one for me, is that it? And now you think I may be _useful_ for other things?” Imperial’s dark gaze bored into Weylin’s face, shining, burning. Close, then closer, his motion flowing and predatory at once, pushing Weylin back with a hand splayed on Weylin’s exposed chest.

“Maybe you also can have a purpose.” The boy put his golden lips behind Weylin’s ear, teeth worrying the same spot Weylin ordered him towards when he still thought he had the right to place demands. He didn’t know how to react, at once helpless to push the boy aside and unwilling to pull him closer.

This was not how he was taught the exchanges worked. There was supposed to be no mention of it.

Weylin was trained by his father, it never came to be an issue but he saw many times strong men take comfort from boys or weak men and there never seemed to be any bad blood between them afterward. Everyone knew their…

Imperial’s clever fingers found the source of Weylin shame immediately. The boy just slid his hand down from Weylin's chest to his groin, palming what he found there as he did when Weylin…

“Stop.” A command. A demand but Weylin's voice betrayed him, wavered, breathy and weak.

The Son of Sarn did not stop.

The Imperial traced the same patterns into the skin of his wrist as he did on his manhood. His eyes, when he looked up to Weylin’s face, shone like glass. Celestial black. Unwavering.

“I won’t,” steady. “You will now receive what you have been stealing. See how you like it,” breathed against Weylin’s mouth, hot tongue swiping over trembling lips. Then again. And again. Matching the rhythm deft fingers set lower down until Weylin had no choice but to give in.

Open his mouth.

Open all of himself but his eyes.

He didn’t want to witness his own shame.

***

Now that he was free to do whatever he pleased, Chitus couldn’t decide what to do first.

He traced his hands over Ezomyte’s chest, pinched into little nubs of flesh there and hummed in disappointment when the reaction didn’t meet his expectations. Worked his hands over muscles of the savage’s powerful arms and lower down, scratching over the definition of the barbarian stomach.

Eventually Chitus just sat back to marvel at all the flesh at his disposal. Ezomyte’s body so much bigger, harder, stronger than his own yet subject to Chitus’ whims, docile even though slave’s manhood kept bouncing eagerly from where it lay, cradled in grooves of the other man’s hips, rising for few moments then falling back down under its own swollen weight.

It soon became amusing, watching it strain in vain, feeling the savage fight himself to keep from squirming, demanding, taking as he was accustomed to. Despite himself Chitus hid a smile, charmed as it rose again to follow his mouth after he let his lips skim the very head of it on his way to bite into the barbarian corded thigh. It was fun, making the heated flesh stand right up, pointing at the sky, with nothing but occasional brush of his breath and feather-light touch at the base of it.

Chitus would never have allowed a lover to play with him like that, as if he was a thing and his need immaterial. He would be seething with rage, demanding…

Ezomyte kept his hands down, eyes clenched tight, fists trembling but otherwise motionless.

“You may touch me,” Chitus muttered, suddenly longing for the feeling of barbarian’s hands tangled into his curls. Chitus felt the other’s hesitation, his wariness but when he finally decided to take him into his mouth Ezomyte’s huge paws were right where he wanted them, soothing, smoothing the hair out of his face, tugging lightly as wet heat of Chitus’ mouth became too much even for this stone of a man to withstand.

Even so, Chitus didn’t want for the savage to find his completion like that, didn’t want to lose the power he had over his flesh, his mind. But he also wasn’t about to torture himself to achieve this goal.

Instead he sang, “Show me your back.” and had to withstand a stab of intense lust that hit him at the terrible, helpless expression on the Ezomyte’s face. The slave knew this abuse will go on, was expecting it yet whatever it was that kept him from just fisting his own cock into completion, held fast.

*

With this new expanse of flesh uncovered for his exploration, Chitus felt he could spend all night right there - astride the barbarian, fingering valleys of his muscles and rubbing his cock between the other man cheeks.

He couldn’t, he didn’t have enough will to deny himself the pleasure of a peak, of watching his seed splattered across the slave’s white flesh. But when he couldn’t take a moment longer, when he felt his balls drawing up and his spine tingle with familiar sensation of encroaching climax he bent low, low over the savage, put his lips to his ear and demanded, “Feel me,” as the shivers overtook him.

Chitus let himself enjoy them, enjoy the dance of muscles under him as the barbarian tried and failed to keep himself still, enjoy as his softening member slid between hard buttocks, enjoy as the flesh in turn clenched and relaxed as if to…

The idea would have rendered him blindingly hard were he not seconds after having spent. If the barbarian tried to keep him away from himself, from the center of his being, that's where Chitus needs to be.

Chitus scooped his own seed from the barbarian skin, warm and fresh and not something he would usually touch at all, but it had its uses now. He wasn’t careful, didn’t shy from the flesh before him. Just sat up - holding the slave’s legs down as best he could.

Who knew where this man would draw a line between what was allowed and what required swift, violent retribution? After all, the Ezomyte didn’t even try to touch him in this manner. Maybe for them it was unheard of, maybe too intimate, maybe too much of a violation…

Chitus still shivered through aftershocks, his very bones shaking with each thought, each new and delightful idea of transgression. He spread the cheeks before him apart, put his hands to work expecting… Yes. Finally a proper reaction.

The Ezomyte - obviously just realizing what Chitus planned to do - tried to swipe his touch away, tried to reach behind to cover himself, but Chitus was ready, Chitus held him down with one hand pressed between his shoulder blades and Chitus slipped his slick fingers inside the other man in one, slow, easy motion. Two at once because this was not about gentleness, this was…

Bending his fingers down, finding the small bundle of flesh inside the barbarian, he finally, finally had the satisfaction of breaking the man. Chitus felt the slave climax around his fingers, felt it in the body under his, heard a hiss and then a scream when he did not let up from the bundle, working it as he would a woman.

He was almost blinded with how fast his own member managed to become interested again, feeling the barbarian trash, hearing him moan, and yell and finally beg - for Chitus to stop, for mercy, even though he had to know hearing him only made Chitus take more pleasure in this torture.

Sliding himself into the barbarian Chitus wasn’t even fully hard, but hot pressure and shocked, high-pitched yell got him there in no time.

The slave tried to buck him off, tried to get away, but Chitus was holding onto him, and then was moving inside him, riding the waves of the other man body, the undulating motion of his struggles as they transformed into the rhythm they both knew as taking pleasure from another.

In the end, Chitus managed to bring the Ezomyte off again, buried inside, with his lips kissing and his teeth biting the barbarian neck and ears. It was hard to reach bo so worth it when the other man moved to make it easier for him, turned towards him to demand… demand…

They both came into the kiss, tongues tangled, saliva dripping in animalistic, undignified fashion. There was possibly nothing dignified about what Chitus has just done and he did not mind. He didn’t bother to pull out before dropping off to sleep.

*

As he woke, only moments later, tremulous grasp of the slave hot insides still registered as pleasure, but the intensity of aftershocks that kept jolting them both became increasingly uncomfortable. He made to pull away but the sight of the other man - tense, his teeth pressing onto his own forearm - distracted him.

Chitus only ever had women penetrate him. Slim fingers dancing playfully inside. It was never like this. Watching himself slide out Chitus had to wonder, was it too much? Was it painful? Did he hurt this man? He also had to admit, if only to himself, he wanted to feel whatever the slave was feeling right now for himself. And soon.

“Is… is this enough? The… The affront… Will you forgive?”

Broken timbre of his voice was so enchanting Chitus almost missed the Ezomyte’s meaning but once it registered he reached to roll the other man again, this time not away but towards himself, pulling him onto the cloak they both migrated off of in their struggle. The Barbarian was still avoiding his gaze, or maybe he was trying to hide his tears. Chitus let him do neither.

“There is no affront. In here you are for me and I am for you,” he said, letting the words hang in the air, then watching understanding dawn on the Ezomyte face.

Quickly, unceremoniously, the man gathered Chitus to his breast and, laughing into the night, ruffled Chitus hair until he had to slap his hands away.

*

The marble halls they went through today had to have been the beginning of the end, the last stretch of traps and monsters before the final chamber.

Chitus insisted they still stay outside for the night, ostensibly because he didn’t trust into treacherous flooring that could erupt in spikes at any moment.

He hadn't even bothered getting dressed after the evening, staying awake and keeping guard as the slave insisted he must but doing so prone and naked, enjoying the warmth radiating off the other man.

The Ezomyte was asleep.

Chitus moved away from him, turned so that his back was to the ground and his eyes on the stars that were barely visible through the rubble of their last hideout.

His eyes should never have strayed from the stars, he should have stayed focused on his goal - and what a goal it was. What glory awaited him if only…

If only.

Thinking of the Ezomyte as just a slave, not asking his name, not asking his past was not helping anymore. Chitus should have averted his eyes from the warrior’s face, should never have traced his shape with his lips.

His eyes swell with hot tears gathering in them, his throat shut in sudden unbearable flash of sorrow.

He will have to kill this man. He will have to lose him to get his empire.

It seemed so easy a plan to implement - to cede some dignity for the highest purpose. To use some dull oaf as a shield then dispose of him taking the triumph for himself.

He thought he would feel smart, feel powerful as he soon will be. What is this nameless brute in face of Perandus cunning and guile? Nothing.

But he is nowhere near his goal and bare thought of losing the company, the laughter, the trust feels as if…

As if it wasn’t his dignity he laid, expecting the empire to be his reward.

Like it was something else altogether.

He might regret the exchange.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon compliant and thus shit but if life wasn't so short I would have written whole fix-it AU with co-emperors breeding a whole platoon of hires for Izaro to spoil and with Malachai and his thaumaturgy as the undisputed triumph of medicine and science - augmenting first sick and lame and then all willing Imperial citizen until gems were just a fashion accessory and Malachai complicated love-life became Imperial equivalent of the Bachelor.


End file.
